


Written in the Sand

by edithkay



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysfunctional Family, Presumed Dead, Weird Plot Shit, Worldbuilding, ok not really weird just kinda hard to understand, rayla and callum do appear but only briefly oof
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edithkay/pseuds/edithkay
Summary: Princess Haya of Evenere wanted nothing to do with her life, so she ran away.In the months following her disappearance, the world suffers the death of a king, the machinations of a dark mage, and a political scandal the likes of which have gone unseen for an age.Out of the frying pan, into the fire, it seems.**MOST LIKELY DISCONTINUED** I’m so sorry but no matter how often I tried to find the inspiration for this again, it would not let me get any further that what I already have. Maybe I’ll continue this on the off chance I feel like writing again, but for now it’s not a possibility. Thank you so much to those who did read and comment though!**





	Written in the Sand

What Haya hated the most was probably the emptiness.

It was the echoing  _ click-clack  _ of her shoes when she walked the halls. Or it could’ve been the laughing hinges of her bedroom doors, worn old with overuse and never replaced. Perhaps it was the high ceilings that hurt the muscles in her neck when she tried to see the cobwebs in the corners. 

The Palace of Evenere was an empty husk, and she couldn't tolerate it.

Well, there really isn’t anyone to blame. Her home is the most isolated from the human kingdoms, the most away from anything. Her people, even more so. As such, Evenere’s buildings are designed not with grandeur or delicacy in mind, but with practicality. The foundations are reinforced, the support beams heavy, and the outsides dull. Very little thought is truly put into decorations. But this leaves Evenere’s atmosphere very plain.

Empty.

Haya had been to the cities in kingdoms like Katolis and Duren. She craved visitations to places outside her home, although so few do they come. There is an energy that is lacked in the streets of her origin. One that she so desperately wishes would propel with the Eastern Winds, and settle itself throughout that dreadful place. 

But it never will. Evenere is just as stagnant as its outerlands. A painting of somberness. 

And as Haya pries her eyes open to that gods-awful stone ceiling, she hopes that today will not be the same. 

As if in answer, her mocking door hinges indicate that another beside herself is in the room. It is most likely Zariah, her lady in waiting. 

“Princess,” another smaller creak signals the opening of her closet, “I trust that your rest was well? We cannot have this day be ruined by your attitude. Her Majesty will formally announce you as her heir today, yes?”

A groan was the response. “Of course, Zariah. When have I ever had a single day to myself since mother told me all those months ago? Gods above, it has been ‘you must learn this’ and ‘no, not that!’. Can I truly measure up to my mother? She expects me to be all that she is and more! Hah, what I would give to see her try and-”

Zariah’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead as her eyes widened in surprise. Haya wasn’t normally this rude, was she? Perhaps she didn’t rest well at all. Zariah’s ruffling through the dresses became more pronounced. “Princess…”

  
  


“Perhaps I do not  _ want _ to inherit this awful excuse for a kingdom, Zariah. I want to leave under the cover of night and never have a whisper of my name be uttered from anyone ever again. Of my two older sisters, could it not be one of them? Perhaps Aima, with her mind like a steel trap. Or Honnah? But my mother has seemingly wanted to make my life as miserable as the wetlands near the coast!”

“Princess-”

“No, no! Don’t you dare ‘Princess’ me! My life is not mine, and it never will be. Don’t you see?  _ You _ get to decide what you will do in life! You can  _ choose _ to be my lady in waiting, or you can  _ choose _ to become a painter, a musician, or anything of the like. For Haida’s sake, you can even enter into a medical apprenticeship Zariah!” 

  
  


“Enough,” Zariah finished picking through the gowns in her wardrobe, voice becoming nothing more than a murmur, “the fact that of your two siblings, Her Highness has chosen  _ you _ is testament enough to your potential. We of Evenere have not had our Queens chosen by birth order, but rather by merit. I will not deny that perhaps I may be the lucky one, but it is an honor to be given the trust of one’s entire kingdom, is it not?”

At this, Haya began to rise out of bed, auburn hair falling in waves down her back. Of course, leave it to her closest confidant to agree with mother. Zariah, while technically loyal to the Princess, was not afraid to voice the truth, however against Haya’s favor it was. 

Her voice grew faint.

“How can you say that to me, after seeing all the turmoil I’ve been put through!? You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be  _ the only one anybody truly cares to acknowledge simply because it is courtesy! _ ” 

There was no sound except for the heels of her shoes clacking against the floor, dropped from Zariah’s hands.

As it has been said, her home is rather empty. 

_ One...two...three...breathe. Please, for all that is good, breathe. If I am to be Queen, my composure cannot fail. _

Haya could not bring herself to look. “Leave. I will attend to myself today. If anyone asks, you were finished early.”

Nothing else had to be said. Her lady in waiting made haste to leave the room, tension sharp as a Sunforge blade. The quiet sobs could be heard even after the final slam of the doors had long faded from Haya’s hearing.

She sunk back into the mattress, and for the first time in a while, allowed her eyes to let go of unshed tears.

Well then. It seems the decision had been made.

What had started as an impulse slowly grew into an elaborate plan, months in the making. The satchel under the loose stone in the floor steadily grew bigger as its contents became more. A ship, hidden away in one of the Capitol’s many ports, was stocked as if it was to be expecting a full crew. A letter-- worn with ink that had faded and marked with words that could never truly be said-- remained in the hidden drawer of her writing desk. A dagger, tucked neatly behind the fireplace broom, had yet to show obvious signs of use.

The heavy down was thrown back from Haya’s body as her feet hit the icy tile, sending a shock up her spine. Years of practice had ingrained her with a gait of purposeness. It had to be done. She strode to the secondary set of doors, crafted by some of the finest glassblowers in Evenere, and swung them open. The sun was just beginning to rise in the east, not yet fully gracing the world with its light. However, a few determined rays stretched across the dawn-lit sky.

The tear tracks down her face were finally beginning to dry. Now, it was replaced with the harsh winter air, giving Haya shivers that wreaked through her entire body. Carefully, she raised her hand, and met with the light. It was a simple gesture, and the dawn only stayed around enough to graze her fingertips before disappearing to other places.

The warmth never stayed long.

While Evenere’s Royal Palace was empty, there were smaller signs of life within its halls. Children’s toys, from the young of the courtiers. The kitchen staff often kept up late into the night, chatter animated and energetic. 

The tapestry of her family across from her bed.

Haya chuckled about nothing in particular before closing the balcony doors and locking them with a foreboding sense of finality. Her hands paused at the doors’ handles for longer than necessary before turning to face the fireplace broom, hidden inconspicuously in a shadowy corner.

The dagger was removed from its usual place. It felt heavy in her hands, as if it was carrying the weight of her grief. While most certainly old, its metal was tenderly cared for and maintained. As she turned the dagger in her hands, a flash of light reflected on the metal and drew attention to her image in the tapestry.

Her woven face stared back at her.

For all of her life, Haya had been participating in a metaphorical game of chess. For every move life made against her, Fareeda would make two more on her behalf. She was but a simple pawn in a game she couldn’t control.

_ Enough. I won’t be sorry. _

The tip of the dagger pressed upon the threads, and pulled downwards. 

The letter was placed upon her desk, and the satchel removed. 

With a final glance into her room, she understood there was no going back. If she were to lose her nerve, there would be consequences. Zariah would be able to figure out her attempted escape, and she would most certainly lose any few freedoms she still attained. Best to leave now, then.

_ Haida, goddess of truth, please guide me if this is truly the right choice. This I ask of you. _

Princess Haya of Evenere, heir to Queen Fareeda, shut the door to her life.

  
  
  
  


The search parties had been going on for months. And there were still no results.

Early on the morning of Princess Haya’s rise to Succession, she disappeared without a trace. No indicator of where she’d gone. No evidence suggesting how it could have been done. It was like magic. One minute, Fareeda had been eating breakfast with her family. The next, Lady Zariah came into the reception hall in hysterics, babbling incoherently about her youngest child being gone in a matter of mere hours.

The Pentarchy had been summoned, of course. Fareeda had made sure of that. Her fellow rulers had promised nothing but full cooperation. King Harrow even had soldiers in his army, led by General Amaya, searching for the lost princess. Yet, nearly five months after her daughter’s apparent vanishing act, not a single scrap of information had been attained. Had she been captured? 

(There there was a small chance that she would have escaped willingly, but Fareeda would not believe that unless the words came from Haya’s mouth).

And yet, the only true lead, a parchment with Haya’s handwriting, gave the most damning suggestion. That this had, in fact, been orchestrated by the princess herself.

The direction this investigation was taking brought a severe frown to Fareeda’s face.

Without the Succession, any currently ruling queen of Evenere would, at the time of her leaving the throne, open the doors for rival families to challenge the validity of their claim to power. This also meant that the title of Queen could pass to another’s daughter, thus breaking her family line.

It was paramount that Haya be found. Aima, Honna, and Talek’s very futures depended on it.

Everyone looked to  _ her _ to bring her daughter home. Yet, the deepest recesses of Farida’s mind spoke the obvious truth.

_ The only way Haya will return is if she returns herself. _

“It saddens me to see you like this, Fareeda.”

Talek had an uncanny talent of appearing exactly where he needed to be, and exactly when he was needed. And for that, she loved him. 

“I’m sorry, my dear. It’s just...I think I’ve been too hard on her. My mother was the same with me, and her mother before her! That’s how things have always been. Tradition is, for all intents and purposes, quite hard to deviate from.” She immediately regretted the words from her mouth, seeing her husband’s minute wince. 

“Well,” he took his spot in the throne next to hers, “We have tradition to keep memories alive, or to honor people in our past. But tradition is based off of history, and what has worked well in the  _ past,  _ Fareeda. If Haya felt the need to take such desperate measures to get out of being next in line for the throne, perhaps it is time those traditions changed.” 

Although her husband's word’s rang heavy with truth, there is a strange sense of comfort in having your path in life largely be determined by centuries worth of evidence to prove that traditions worked. But goodness, Talek knew just what to say. 

“You’re right. But I can’t simply give her all the leeway she desires! What good will that do for Haya?”

“My dear,” Talek briefly pressed his lips to her temple, pulling back just as the morning report came in, “You and I will have the time to figure out just what  _ is _ good for Haya.”

Unfortunately, they would not find out. 

The heavy oak door burst open, and a flurry of activity came in. Soldiers, both dressed in armor of distinctly Katolian make and of her own kingdom came through. There was yelling further down the way, but Fareeda couldn’t tell who exactly the aggravated speech came from. One of her own generals, Umio, came in looking particularly peeved.

  
  


When Umio meet the eyes of his Queen, any and all irritation faded in an instant. Instead, it was replaced with an expression of genuine sadness. Umio coughed for a moment, then spoke,

“Your Majesties,” he briefly saluted to them both, “I come with most urgent news. However, I feel it is most important to inform you of the rather...devastating development regarding her Highness, Princess Haya.”

Out of the pack attached to his hip, a familiar winter cloak was pulled.

Made from one of the local tailors in the Capitol, Haya’s favorite cloak looked to have seen much better days, worn and threadbare as it was before her. The periwinkle blue was hardly visible through the dirt and grime caked to it. Flecks of a brownish looking stain (Fareeda does not dare to wonder what it could be) were splattered on the upper half of the garment. 

“It was found by one of King Harrow’s men, stuck to a branch in a stream. He would not have picked it up if what was found under did not truly belong to the Princess herself.”

And then, the dragonfly.

Not an actual dragonfly, no. But rather, the necklace given to Haya at birth. Fareeda had five made, each on different occasions. Two, on her day of marriage to Talek. And three more, each one made for its individual princess. Haya’s was rather simple, a golden, dainty thing with two small emeralds for eyes. It could’ve belonged to any high ranking woman. What made  _ this  _ necklace Haya’s was the name inscribed in the back.

Yes, this was hers. Without a doubt. 

It took all of Fareeda’s strength to rise from her throne, and shakily descend the steps.

“General, may I examine the necklace?” Fareeda felt the small thing in her hands over and over until her fingers hurt. There was a small dent in the side, yes, from when Haya was younger. She had thrown the necklace against her bedroom wall in a fit of anger, after being told she would not be accompanying her sisters to Duren. The right eye was missing its respective emerald, which had seemingly disappeared over the course of a night, and Haya had refused to wear it for a week.

_ Haya sat in the corner of her room, scrubbing at the non-stop flow of tears down her face. _

_ “Mommy,” another wail, “I don’t want to wear it anymore! What will Honnah and Aima say? They’ll tell me that I don't deserve to wear my necklace and it’s all my fault that it looks  _ hideous!”

_ Fareeda slipped down the wall to sit next to her daughter. _

_ “Well, sometimes the imperfect things are the most special and unique, yes? I think your necklace is quite beautiful, with both emeralds or not. Its special just like a certain princess I know. In fact, she is sitting right next to me!” _

_ Haya giggled quietly, and then the laughter came in uncontrollable bouts, until she was clutching her stomach _

_ Unique, indeed. _

As she turned the necklace over one more time, something odd caught her attention. Within parts of the chain, there appeared to be the same brown flecks that appeared on parts on her cloak. Except this time, the “flecks” were more of a muted red. Like the colors of an ancient painting, or like rust on a ill-used sword.

Like blood, after it has dried.

Fareeda dropped the necklace, and the chain broke. Her eyes began to flutter, and a feeling of lightheadedness came about.

_ no no no no No NO NO  _ ** _NO-_ **

Her body was screaming at her to do something,  _ anything _ . But all she could do was stand stiff as a wooden plank. Fareeda dare not move, for she feared the uneasy balance in the room would plummet if she did.

The only blood that could be on that necklace was her daughter’s. 

_ Oh, gods no. Gods above please no. Please let this all be a terrible dream.  _

“Haya,” Fareeda choked out, voiced thick from disuse. Her muttering slowly turned into quiet sobs as she sunk to the floor. Almost instantly, Talek was kneeling beside her, trying to fight off tears of his own. 

“I-I didn’t even get to tell her I loved her.  _ I didn’t even get to tell her I loved her! _ ”

Umio quietly ushered out the entourage of soldiers out the doors, and shut them as he left. His Majesties, at the very least, deserve to mourn in private.

However, as he continued down the hall with carefully measured steps, Queen Fareeda’s wails could still be heard, echoing deep and awful. 

Too bad he couldn’t tell them the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! this is my first work on here like,,ever. updates will be sporadic, but ill try to get at least two in a month!


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